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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29917263">Dear Yuqi</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bo0Radley/pseuds/Q_Q'>Q_Q (Bo0Radley)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>(여자)아이들 | (G)I-DLE</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Drama, F/F, Mentioned Seo Soojin - Freeform, Not A Happy Ending, Out of Character, POV Jeon Soyeon, POV Multiple, POV Song Yuqi, Strangers to Lovers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:35:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,131</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29917263</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bo0Radley/pseuds/Q_Q</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>I like what I am and who I am despite being an arrogant, self-absorbed, and a selfish human being. And you should know that about me out of everyone because you still accepted me despite it all.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Right, Yuqi?</em>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jeon Soyeon/Song Yuqi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dear Yuqi</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><b>Disclaimer:</b> Very OOC Soyeon. Be warned.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Behavioral psychology explains that humans have this innate ability to protect their vulnerable psyche against mental trauma. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Well, mental trauma conjures such a harsh image. So just for this instance, let's call it ‘uncomfortable scenarios’. And these scenarios make everyone, regardless of who and what they are, hide behind their shields. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Their defense mechanisms. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> These defense mechanisms are somewhat normal albeit irritating in excess. But everyone has this. Everyone does this. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But imagine encountering someone whose whole personality revolves around making others’ lives miserable by conforming to these defense mechanisms to a tee. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sounds familiar?</em>
</p><p>
  <em> And those who were victimized by these undesirables often give them these descriptions: having irritating habits, having questionable motives, having punchable faces, etcetera. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (Is ‘punchable’ an actual word? Soojin’s auto-correct apparently says no so I'm not really sure.) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Anyways, to cut this short, I’m just going to say that I’m one of those undesirables. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Shocking, I know. Are you surprised? Humor me for a second and pretend that you’re surprised. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You know, I would want to apologize for my behavior but that’ll make me insincere. And one thing I pride myself with is how sincere I am: the good, the bad, and the awful.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I like what I am and who I am despite being an arrogant, self-absorbed, and a selfish human being. And you should know that about me out of everyone because you still accepted me despite it all.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Right, Yuqi?</em>
</p><hr/><p>“Will you wait for me?” she casually asked as she flick on her cigarette. It was such a benign question with a boatload of consequences and we both know it.</p><p>I could’ve said no. I could’ve, at this moment, just walk away—from all the potential pain, heartaches, and disappointments. But like the masochist that I am, I simply shrugged and weakly smiled her way. “Do I even have a choice?”</p><p>She frowned at the question as she took a drag, the lungful of smoke delaying her retort. “You can always walk away, you know. It’s not like I’m forcing you to stay.”</p><p>I sighed and shrugged, the already weak smile on my face in danger of slipping off. “You are not forcing me to do anything.” </p><p>“I know.” I watched her put that cancer stick on her lips again and I winced on the inside. I watched her take a drag and puff out a white smoke, the smell never failing to make me frown.</p><p>I long gave up on telling her what to do and not to do with her vices. Not because I know she wouldn’t listen but because I want her to be free.</p><p>Even if I can’t.</p><p>“I’ll wait for you.”</p><p>“I know.” She looked at her watch, the cigarette dangling on her pink lips. “But I have to leave you. For now. My shift will start again in a few.”</p><p>“Have fun,” I playfully told her retreating back. She just gave me a wave before running towards the building, her white sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor. I watched until she reached the hospital entrance, not bothering with showing the midnight guard her ID since her own scrubs is enough proof that she is an employee.</p><p>The irony of someone like Soyeon working in the field that saves lives never fails to amuse me.</p><p>But she <em> did </em> save me. In her own unique way, she saved me. Even if she keeps on hurting me in the process.</p><p>I looked around the parking lot, my eyes noticing a couple more medical personnel roaming around. Like Soyeon, they're probably on a break and, like Soyeon, they chose to use their time to de-stress themselves with something that will kill them in the long run.</p><p>I took a breath, noticing the familiar but faint smell clinging on me. So I walked towards my car, eager to wash off the awful smell with some perfume.</p><p>But the minute I settled inside the car, my phone rang. I almost jumped in surprise, wondering who’ll call at this time of night, before realizing that there is only one person who will do that.</p><p>So I answered it, preparing myself for the worst.</p><p>“You’re really going to do this again, are you?”</p><p>I sighed at the familiar reprimanding voice. “Yes, I am. You should know that by now.”</p><p>“Unfortunately,” my friend said on the other line, her voice both stern and resigned. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself? Are you that bored in life? Don’t you have like a gazillion other things to do?”</p><p>I wanted to say that I am a masochist but I know I’ll be lying. Shuhua knows I’ll be lying. So I just slumped my head on the wheel, my chest aching that familiar ache. “I can handle it.”</p><p>“Sure. But don’t come crying to me when she talks about other girls again.”</p><p>“They don’t mean anything to her,” I mumbled.</p><p>“And you do?”</p><p>Those three words hit harder than it should—which I know is Shuhua’s intention. So I took a deep to calm my heart, acutely aware of the pain in my chest, before replying. “I’ll just see you tomorrow, okay?”</p><p>And before Shuhua could say another word, I ended the call.</p><p>From the dark tint of my windshield, I scanned the almost empty parking lot, trying to find something to distract me from my turbulent thoughts. On my far right I saw a park—lit by fairy lights scattered atop the tree branches—to guide the late night wanderers into their midnight stroll.</p><p>On the far left I saw a convenience store, its colorful, inviting lights attracting night shifters like a moth to a flame.</p><p>Like I am to Soyeon.</p><p>Sighing, I checked my dashboard and looked at the time, all the while contemplating why I'm here in the first place.</p><p>Again.</p><p>But as always, I shrugged it all off. Because like I said, I'll wait for her.</p><p>Just like always.</p><hr/><p>I glanced her way, a hint of smile surfacing from my lips. My eyes followed the contour of her face, trailing to the lips that's currently downturned with worry.</p><p>She always worries and I find it adorable.</p><p>“What?” she asked, noticing my stare. She pinched me, hard, as if it's a crime to look. Maybe it is. But I don’t fancy myself a stickler to the rules so I really don’t care either way.</p><p>“Nothing,” I said. I smirked at her and the way she rolled her eyes. Then I cringed as I felt the pain on my arm when she pinched me even harder.</p><p>“Don’t be weird,” she sternly warned, but I can see that she’s enjoying it. She’s enjoying it when I look at her as if she’s the only person in the world.</p><p>And that's a crime.</p><p>I finally looked away, frowning a bit, as I suppressed the urge to pinch myself into not succumbing.</p><p>Into not falling.</p><p>“So this girl…” I started, the story unconsciously forming in my head as my greatest defense mechanism is being acted out. “She told me she likes me.”</p><p>She hummed. “And?” she asked nonchalantly.</p><p>I shrugged as I took another drag, noticing that I’d smoked it up to its filter. Again. It’s a habit of mine that people—specifically people who also smoke—find weird.</p><p>“I find it cathartic,” I would always say to them. But I never said out loud why I find it cathartic.</p><p>Why is it cathartic? I guess it’s just the idea that I can at least finish what I started until the very end.</p><p>“I told her she shouldn’t,” I said and chuckled at her bemused expression. “She has a boyfriend and I can’t have that.”</p><p>“But you tolerate it,” she said. She always says this and I almost always laugh in response—it's not that I find it funny per se, but I find it amusing how I put so much effort into not succumbing.</p><p>Into not falling.</p><p>“It’s not my fault,” I replied with a smirk as I took another drag. I’ve smoked the last bit of my stick and threw it on the ground. Then almost unconsciously, I stepped on it repeatedly until the last ember was gone.</p><p>In my mind, I’ve metaphorically killed a killer.</p><p>And I mulled on that existentialist thought for a few seconds before getting another stick. Another killer. “It’s not like I’m forcing them to like me.”</p><p>“But you made them feel like they have a chance,” she retorted, her low voice audibly raising a few octaves. “It’s just as bad.”</p><p>I just smiled and said nothing in return, focusing on my newly lit cigarette. It’s a new one—the one that the girl in question told me to buy. It’s not that bad but I don’t think I’ll try it again. “It’s not my fault, Yuqi.”</p><p>“It never is,” she mumbled and I pretended not to hear. “Now come on,” she then said out loud, dragging me by my sleeves as the humming of the cars and motorcycles played in the background. “It's late and you have another shift tomorrow.”</p><p>We strolled a bit as I stared on the pavements illuminated by the streetlights with their omnipresent orange glow. I observed the people smoking everywhere—beside the trash cans, in front of convenient stores, and beneath the waiting sheds—as they take a break from their suffocating workloads during night shift.</p><p>It’s funny, really. They say that crime is rampant during the night—when the thieves, murderers, and rapists try to coat their horrid intentions with the muted light tinged with orange. But as I—we, rather—walk through the dark and the partially unknown, I felt safer.</p><p>Maybe because I’m a criminal, too.</p><p>Because it’s a crime to look at her adoringly as she animatedly talks about the most random things—like pointing out the fact that I have selective hearing. I do, yes. Sometimes. But I rather like to concentrate on how she smiles than hear her playfully mock me of my hearing problems.</p><p>It’s a crime to hold her hand as we walk and banter our way into crossing the streets. She’s rather afraid of the passing cars as they hightail it towards their destination, so I always lead. I’ve had this habit of pretending to be brave—a habit that's now an everyday routine.</p><p>It’s a crime to ask for a kiss as we parted ways, her head tilted to the side as she playfully tried to stop my advances but nevertheless kissed me back. This is the part of my criminal routine wherein I feel the shame—that burning, unquenchable shame that, somehow, pricks on this heart that I thought had died when I stubbornly stopped medicating all my pain away.</p><p>But in the end, I’m still a rule-breaker. I did look at her as much as I could. I did hold her hand as often as I could. I did kiss her as she waved her goodbye before getting into her car and taking off into the night.</p><p>Beneath the street lamp, I lit another cigarette, hoping to calm myself before heading back to the unknown. As I contemplated the crimes I’ve committed for the night, I wondered to myself when I get to do it again.</p><p>After all, I never fancied myself as a stickler to the rules.</p><hr/><p>She looked up from her tablet, a curious expression gracing her pretty face. “We have to set some ground rules before we do this,” she said nonchalantly before looking back at her tablet.</p><p>I tilted my head on the side, confused but intrigued at this new development. “Like what?” I asked, wondering why something as simple needed something complicated.</p><p>She looked up again. “Like… no falling in love,” she stated slowly followed by a smirk.</p><p>I chuckled at the suggestion. “That’s easy. I can do that,” I declared with a haughty smirk—as if such a ludicrous statement is even possible.</p><p>I’m Song Yuqi. I can do anything and everything.</p><p>She chuckled back, amused. I didn’t like that one bit. “Can you, Yuqi?” she challenged with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. “People say I’m too hard to resist.”</p><p>“You’re so full of yourself.” I laughed in her face, trying hard not to let my indignation rule my common sense. I’m fairly confident in my ability to not fall in love with someone like Soyeon. And in my head, I've already agreed to the condition.</p><p>Because I’m fairly confident in what I like and don’t like.</p><p>Confidence is what I’m familiar with—It’s comfortable, expected, and the only thing I’ve ever known my entire life.</p><p>But sometimes, confidence is not enough in the face of the unknown. And a simple curiosity to explore—just to see what it feels like—inevitably opened my eyes to its limitations.</p><p>Or my limitations, rather.</p><p>Confidence didn't help when she started kissing me hard, my heart beating faster and faster as I flailed to keep up with the barrage of new sensations.</p><p>Confidence didn’t help me when she whispered sweet lies in my ears, acutely aware that every word is calculated to get the desired effect but I didn’t care.</p><p>Confidence didn’t help me in the morning when I woke up alone, wondering if I made a huge mistake but still craving for more.</p><p>Confidence didn’t help me when I started daydreaming about things I dare not admit out loud—not of fear of judgment from others but of fear of my own failure in keeping my head and my heart separate.</p><p>Confidence didn’t help me when I kept answering her calls, helplessly hoping that maybe something will change this time.</p><p>Confidence didn’t help me when I finally broke down and cried that one morning—always alone—while asking myself if I should finally put a stop to this facade.</p><p>Confidence didn’t help me when I still picked up the phone when she called, tired but still wanting, and I immediately went to her when she told me she needed me.</p><p>Confidence didn’t help me when we started talking outside the bedroom, our own truths laid bare for the very first time.</p><p>Confidence didn’t help me when I started hoping again as she started looking at me like I’m the only girl in her life—no matter how much of a lie I know it actually is.</p><p>Confidence didn’t help me when I finally admitted to myself that I’ve broken the one rule a long time ago.</p><hr/><p>I saw her flip another page and I smiled slightly at the action. With her eyes wholly focused on the words, I slid towards her and sat beside her.</p><p>“What took you so long?” she started with a frown as she assessed my windblown hair and my slightly crumpled clothes, her hands steadying the page as she was about to turn it over.</p><p>“Traffic,” I grumbled, a bit petulantly, as I recalled the long hours it took me to get here. It was supposed to be easy—I’ll get off the train at exactly 15 minutes after my shift before getting on the bus and sitting my ass on the seat in front for another 15 minutes.</p><p>It was supposed to be easy but life isn’t always fair like that.</p><p>“For how long?”</p><p>I grumbled inaudibly before feeling a sharp pinch on my arm. “Ow!”</p><p>“Stop mumbling, Soyeon” she said with a reprimanding tone. “How long was it?”</p><p>“I said one hour,” I repeated as I touched my abused arm. “It was supposed to be less.”</p><p>“Excuses,” she just said as she closed her book. I saw the bookmark—a couple of pressed sunflowers arranged neatly inside an acetate—that she explained was given to her a few years back by a good friend.</p><p>I always tell her that her bookmark is both pretty and sad: it's like preserving death just because it's pretty to look at. She’ll then tell me that it’s not preserving death but similar to immortalizing a beautiful life well-lived.</p><p>I don’t agree but her optimistic outlook in life is something that fascinates me.</p><p>“It’s a fact,” I just said with a playful eye roll before wincing at the feel of another pinch on my arm. “And that hurts, you know.”</p><p>“It was supposed to hurt,” she sarcastically replied as she stood up. “Let’s go.”</p><p>When we started this… thing, the invitation would usually lead to something familiar: a dark room with unassuming decoration and a big bed smack right in the middle. But nowadays, it leads to a routine that starts with a coffee and leads to seemingly endless conversations.</p><p>Well, it still ends in the bedroom sometimes. But with both of our schedules being a bitch, we cannot afford to play around that much anymore.</p><p>And at this point I usually just end things because… what’s the point, right?</p><p>But as I listen to her talk animatedly about the things she's done, her face a myriad of expressions and emotions that never fails to fascinate me, I realized that maybe I like this set-up better.</p><p>It feels… right.</p><p>“You’re being weird again,” she chastised lightly but I didn’t look away and just gave her a faux-innocent smile in return. “Don’t look at me like that. You know what you’re doing.”</p><p>I was about to say that I do but decided to contradict her for fun. “I don't always know everything.”</p><p>“Liar.”</p><p>And as I dodge another painful pinch, laughing at her indignation and admiring the blush on her face that, somehow, made her look even prettier in my eyes, I felt a familiar buzz in my pocket.</p><p>“Who is it?” she asked as I took out my phone. I felt a chill come over me as I read the message, my professional instinct kicking in as I scrutinized the medical jargons, looking for any inconsistencies.</p><p>“Is it one of your girls?” I snapped my head towards her and saw the intensity written all over her face—such a pretty, expressive face—that she's trying hard to bury beneath that unconvincing neutral expression.</p><p>I opened my mouth to explain before stopping myself.</p><p>“Yes,” I lied, schooling my face in subtle nonchalance as one of my defense mechanisms started acting out. “So I have to go.”</p><p>I saw the changes in her expression: surprise, hurt, anger, disappointment, and resignation. “But you just got here.”</p><p>“I know. But I have to go now.”</p><p>And before she even said yes (or no), I immediately picked up my backpack and walked away, not even sparing a glance back to the person I left behind.</p><p>It’s nothing new. I always leave people behind.</p><p>Outside, the sun is shining and the hustle and bustle of everyday life is flourishing. I scanned the area, looking for someplace private—or as private as it can be on a broad daylight—before taking out my phone.</p><p>“Soojin?”</p><p>As I listen to the calm voice of my friend—the only friend I have in my whole fucked up life—and nod along as she said words that took me a few years to completely understand, I can’t help but look back.</p><p>I never look back but I did this time.</p><p>I saw a glimpse of Yuqi from the glass window. I saw her head down and her face with sadness written all over it. I saw her taking a deep breath before picking up her book, absentmindedly flinging the sunflower bookmark on her side where it landed on the far side of the table.</p><p>Far out of her reach.</p><p>I watched for a long time before finally turning around, remembering why I never look back.</p><hr/><p>“What did I tell you?”</p><p>“A lot of things.”</p><p>Shuhua is a contradiction and chaos personified: an old soul in the body of a younger friend—with wisdom and patience on par with the calmest of monks—but with a temper fit for a warrior in the middle of the fiercest war.</p><p>Of course Shuhua has a lot to say.</p><p>“Why did you even do this in the first place?”</p><p>I put down my book and blindly reached out for my sunflower bookmark. I frowned a bit when I realized that it’s too far from my reach. “I was curious. I wanted to know what it feels like.”</p><p>Shuhua saw my struggle and picked up my bookmark. “And the second time?” she asked as she waved my bookmark in front of my face. “And the hundred times after that?”</p><p>I huffed before reaching out for it. And as I put it between the pages of my book, I heard Shuhua say, “Are you in love with her?”</p><p>Yes.</p><p>“Would you believe me if I say no?”</p><p>She scoffed. “Of course not. I’ve known for a while anyways.”</p><p>I sighed. “Then why ask?”</p><p>“So I can say ‘I told you so’ when you finally admitted it out loud.”</p><p>I drummed my fingers atop my book—an old copy of ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ that I always keep on me—while wishing that my friend would just drop the topic altogether.</p><p>“You know she’ll never change, right?”</p><p>“We don’t know that.” Instead of looking at my friend, I looked at my book. The bookmark was sticking out and I idly tried to remember the chapter where I stopped.</p><p>I think it's when Scout and Jem finally met Boo Radley.</p><p>“Right.” I finally looked up and saw my friend looking intensely at me. “But I’m not gonna wait around until she completely breaks you for that to happen.”</p><p>I sighed again. “I’m not a child, Shuhua.”</p><p>Shuhua reached out for my hand that's now fiddling with the book’s cover—an unconscious habit of mine whenever I’m starting to feel stressed. “Everyone becomes vulnerable as a child whenever they get hurt.”</p><hr/><p>What does it take for a monster to fall in love? Loving another monster? Or, perhaps, finding a love so profound and passionate that it destroys the impenetrable wall of absolute apathy?</p><p>Or maybe, just maybe, there's simply no hope—a conclusion solidified by the realization that monsters <em> are </em> monsters: Did Frankenstein's son become unafraid of fire? Did Dracula stop being a vampire?</p><p>Did I ever stop breaking her heart?</p><p>As I ponder these truths, I continue to look at her, admiring the soft contours of her face and the expressive eyes that tells a lot of stories.</p><p>"But why?" she asked and I just looked on, undeterred and stoic, trying hard not to feel.</p><p>Because monsters don’t feel.</p><p>“No reason.” I answered simply. “It’s just not worth it anymore.”</p><p>She chuckled, unamused and unconvinced. “You have no right to dictate me on what I think is worth it or not worth it, Soyeon.”</p><p>I shook my head before walking away, my sneakers making a muted sound against the pavement of the parking lot. I took a subtle calming breath before turning around and looking at her straight in the eyes. “Everyone is right, you know. I’m not worth it. We should just stop.”</p><p>I then raised a knowing eyebrow at her surprised expression. She shouldn’t be surprised—I’m always aware of how people perceive me.</p><p>It’s always the same horror stories, just with different characters.</p><p>She shook her head, bemused and annoyed. “I never pegged you as someone who listens to others.”</p><p>I sighed before walking closer, the smell of her perfume enough to mask the lingering scent of the cigarette on my nose. “You are a nice person. One of the nicest I’ve met,” I started, trying to be as honest as I can possibly be. “And nice people don’t deserve getting their hearts broken over and over again.”</p><p>Silence enveloped us—the only sounds heard are the soft voices of the other medical personnels trudging their way towards a secluded spot to light up a stick. Or two. Or more.</p><p>“So you knew?”</p><p>I shrugged. “Yes.”</p><p>She chuckled again as she shook her head. “Of course you do,” she mumbled under her breath and I pretended not to her. “And how about you?”</p><p>“I care for you.”</p><p>“Do you?”</p><p>“I’ll always care for you.” I tried to smile but I know for a fact that it looks like a wince. “Always.”</p><p>Another silence. I watched her face, her current myriad of expressions like an open book with mismatched genres meshed together while still making sense.</p><p>“I don’t need you to love me, you know,” she finally said, her voice soft and pleading. “I just need you here with me. Just like always.”</p><p>I inaudibly gulped and tried hard not to feel. Monsters don’t feel.</p><p>“I can’t.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“Because I don’t want to,” I declared, a bit loudly, my voice void of emotion and empathy. “It’s as simple as that.”</p><p>I watched as the confusion and hurt started to morph into something I was hoping for: anger. And I almost laughed out loud at my thoughts, because what kind of a person am I for hoping that someone is hurt?</p><p>A monster?</p><p>But it’s easier to fancy myself as one: an unfeeling, fictional character meant to warn children and adults alike that bad people exist in this world. And the word itself conjures ugly images of pain and misery, mostly directed to their victims.</p><p>So it feels right to see myself as one.</p><p>But monsters <em> do </em> feel: Frankenstein’s son loved his father. Dracula did love Mina until his dying breath.</p><p>And me? I love her. I love Song Yuqi.</p><p>“I feel so pathetic,” I heard her say with a dark chuckle, her eyes clouded in anger directed to me.</p><p>And I am glad. I <em> should </em> be glad, rather. But unwanted words started swimming around my head, clashing and conflicting with each other. They want to get out. To be heard. But my defense mechanism kicked in so I just said, “understandable. I always make others feel that way. You’re not the first.”</p><p>But I know, for a fact, that she’ll be the last.</p><p>She scoffed at that. “Are you even <em> sorry</em>?”</p><p>I shrugged. “Never. It’s just how I am.”</p><p>I saw her sigh dejectedly, the anger now replaced with passive acceptance, before turning away. I pretended not to hear the soft sniffles. I pretended not to hear the crack in her voice when she softly but clearly said, “goodbye, Soyeon.”</p><p>“Goodbye, Yuqi.”</p><p>I watched her go into her car, not once looking back, before finally driving away. Now alone, I rummaged through my pocket and took out my cigarette case.</p><p>With slightly trembling fingers, I took out one stick and lit it up, the familiarity of the red ember calming me down. I inhaled, filling my failing lungs with more cancer, before puffing out the familiar white smoke.</p><p>I closed my eyes and looked up, trying to stop the unfamiliar—but also familiar—wetness to come out. Still with my head up, I slowly opened my eyes and stared at the full moon. Unblinking.</p><p>“Let’s be together in another life,” I whispered in the night, idly wondering if monsters are reborn as humans in their next life.</p><hr/><p>“Yuqi?”</p><p>I looked up and saw Shuhua, her eyes filled with worry. “Do you want to ride with me?”</p><p>I shook my head. “I’ll stay here for a while.”</p><p>Shuhua just nodded. And after a few seconds of standing beside me, she put a comforting hand on my shoulder, gently squeezed, before walking away.</p><p>Left alone, I keep on standing, my blurry eyes focused on the slab of stone that bears the name of the woman I once loved.</p><p>After taking a deep breath, I put my hand in my coat pocket and took out a crumpled piece of paper given by a woman named Soojin. After drying my eyes with a handkerchief bearing a single sunflower print, I started reading again:</p><p>
  <em>You’re probably wondering what happened after the last time we met. Although if you weren't, I’m not going to blame you for it—we didn’t part on good terms so it’s fairly understandable.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So what happened was I died.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Obviously I was still alive for this letter. But barely. This was all dictated because I wasn’t able to type nor hold a pen at the time that I decided to write my final thoughts.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(And it’s all thanks to Soojin, my one and only friend who stuck with me for a long time. She patiently typed all my thoughts and promised to give it to you when the inevitable day finally comes.)</em>
</p><p><em>I got</em> <em> sick. Apparently I was sick for a long time but I didn’t realize it. Ironic, right? I’m a doctor and yet I wasn’t able to detect the signs and symptoms early on.</em></p><p>
  <em>And I hope you find humor in this because it's hilarious in a fucked up way.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So this letter is my way of apologizing to you. And I want to apologize for everything, including my behavior.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Because I may be proud of who and what I am but, believe it or not, I’m not proud of the things I’ve done and the people I’ve hurt along the way.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I made peace with it, you know. I tried to make things right with myself and with others. One reason is because I don’t like unfinished business. Another is the late realization of how pliable the human psyche is—which meant people can change under the right conditions.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And with the help of the right people.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When I first met you, I was still me. But as time went by, my perspective gradually shifted and my dim world started to become brighter.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I became… happier.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I still like what I am. What I was. I was arrogant, self-absorbed, and a selfish human. And it was a perfectly solid shield that helped me navigate through life. But I realized later on that everything and everyone has limitations.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>People do change. People can still change. And in the short while we’ve been together, however you may want to define it, I realized how you changed me for the better.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thank you for that.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So I apologize for making you feel bad. I apologize for making you sad. I apologize for breaking your heart over and over again. And I apologize for not realizing early on how loving you made me a better person.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yes, I love you. And I’ll probably love you until my dying breath (which Soojin said is any day by now).</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And I’m sorry I lied. I'm so sorry for being a coward. Defense mechanism is not an excuse but it’s the only reason I can give.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So let’s meet again in our next life, okay? I promise to be a better person when that time comes. I promise to love you the right way when that time comes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But until then, I have to go.</em>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>                                                                                                                                                                                                           Jeon Soyeon</em> </b>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>A/N:</b> This is an old story of mine (way back in 2016) that was inspired by some real life events. I decided to rewrite it because I kinda got curious if the characterization of Soyeon in this would actually hold water.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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